Guilty Pleasure
by Okamiblossom
Summary: Meliodas, the son of the demon king, the most loyal and ruthless apostle of despair ever to be born in his clan. That's why no one expected him to set aside his duties to indulge himself in one guilty pleasure. Just a quick one shot.


The demon clan lived in perpetual darkness. Their atmosphere hung heavy. Their air cold and smelling of rotten leaves, always stricken with a deathly silence. Their skies cloaked in a constant, suffocating night. Their landscape barren, deprived of any and all life. Their skies untouched by foreign wings. Their earth covered in clusters of unsightly nests, which were often overcrowded by their petulant offspring. The only exception was the fortress of the king, which stood with ominous pride in the center of the many clumps of demonic dens, reserved for only himself and his most favored warriors.

In that abyss of shadowy blackness, a demon's life revolved around serving its superiors; nothing more, nothing less. If that meant being used as a throwaway or a shield to protect the higher ups, then that was that. At least they'd still have their souls. Nobody ever questioned or rebelled, as most of them were born mindless to begin with.

For centuries now the demon clan had been involved in warlike conflict. While they never had seen eye to eye with any of the four clans, no clan had ever caused their blood to seeth lividly underneath their skin in sheer abhorrence like the goddess clan. Their equal in power, the goddess clan was the other dominant power that occupied Britannia. Their lands and powers polar opposites, the holy beings had the remaining three clans practically wrapped around their finger.

It was almost as if the two were designed to contrast one another perfectly. Everything from their values to their magic were polar opposites. The goddesses breathed life, while the demons stole it. The goddesses soared with majestic angelic wings gilded in white, incompatible to the black feathers that sprouted from a demon's wings. While the demonic folk were never a kind to care about appearances, as they would be viewed in the same horrific light regardless of how they looked on the outside, the goddess took great care in presenting themselves. They all appeared regal and proud, garbed robes of silver and gold that often shone with an ostentatious amount of light.

The goddesses were disgusted by the demon clan, and desired their extinction as much as the demons yearned for theirs. The mutual hatred that fumed from their rivalry incited a silent war between the two clans. While they had created a treaty filled with empty promises about the forbidden act of launching a war for the total domination of the land, it didn't stop the battles. Or the kidnapping. Or the torture. Or the destruction. It merely prevented the catastrophe of an official war between the two races, both knowing fully well that it would result in the abolishment of both their clans.

Meliodas was a son of the demon king. He was quite short, his vibrant blonde hair a stark contrast to his black eyes that burned like coals. He carried an unexpected composure and calmness in his disposition, despite his features still teeming with youth. While he was still considered by many an adolescent, he was not too young to be in a position of power.

As a son of the demon king, Meliodas had very much inherited his father's callous, merciless nature. He charged without hesitation, annihilated entire villages without flinching, and killed with depraved indifference.

One of three siblings, he was tested as the most powerful, and was promoted to leader of the ten commandments, his father's most formidable, vile order of demons ever to be produced, created primarily to compete with the goddess clan's four great angels. The ten deadly demons all demonstrated extreme loyalty and conviction towards their king, and a feeling of mutual disgust for all other inferior life forms.

Just as the goddesses struck down demons upon sight, the demons annihilated any goddess who happened to wander outside their borders. Despite the treaty between the two clans, it was expected. So when Meliodas sensed the presence of a goddess as he and his patrol made their way back to report to the demon king, he made up his mind to track it down and slay it.

Maybe if he hadn't made that bold decision, he wouldn't have fallen like he had. Maybe if hadn't told his brethren to go on without him, he would have remained the same cruel, ruthless killing machine he was born to be. Maybe if he hadn't chased after that presence, he would have spared all five clans from a war that would rage for three thousand years.

Nevertheless, he bounded off in pursuit of the holy presence. As if they could sense him approaching, the holy being began to flee. Meliodas was fast, and soon could make out the figure of the goddess. With callous apathy, he drew his blade, ready to slash through the body of his enemy.

Once he cleared the trees, however, he found a patrol of the goddess clan waiting for him. He cursed himself under his breath, for falling for such a simple trap. How many of them had he slain? He didn't know. He had never cared enough to try and count. But he figured he must truly have murdered an unforgivable amount of them for them to attack him so mercilessly. Each took a turn lunging at him, each with eyes that burned with a fire for revenge, for justice.

He took their punishment, concentrating on weakening them. He could outlast them. He had the stamina for it. The curtain of sunlight had finally begun to fall, and soon many of the goddesses were completely exhausted. It was then when he unleashed all of the pain he had been forced to endure straight at them.

 _Revenge Counter!_

Droplets of rain had begun to drizzle down from the sky. His face devoid of any emotion, Meliodas gazed upon the patrol he had just single handedly slaughtered. They all lay pitifully in the mud, their white garments stained crimson, bathing in pools of their own blood.

He inhaled sharply when he found that he could detect breathing amongst them. They were alive. How could he have failed? Finishing them off now would be child's play, and he prepared to make a finishing strike.

It was then when he realized his own state of being. He felt dizzy, unbalanced. A wound in his side was gushing blood, and he could feel blood drip painfully slowly down from a cut on his forehead. He didn't even think to close his wounds with his dark, regenerative power, his thoughts were too incoherent. He sheathed his blade, and limped into the thicket, knowing with confidence that the goddesses would bleed to death.

He wandered aimlessly throughout a maze of trees. The rain never erupted into a storm, but did moisten the earth below his feet, making it dangerously slippery. Occasionally he stumbled over a root, or lost his footing on a rock blooming with damp lichen. Each minute felt like an hour, each step he took resulted in the opening of another wound he didn't remember. The world couldn't stop spinning, and the haze only continued to thicken.

When he felt his foot catch another stray tree root, he knew he was going to meet the ground. He just barely managed to brace himself, and by that point up or down had no meaning to him anymore. He lay caked in blood, left to stare at the treetops, the gray sky, and each droplet of rain as it hissed upon making contact with the earth.

Soon the pearls of blood from the gash on his forehead reached his left eye. A sea of scarlet engulfed the world, and he blacked out.

Meliodas woke with a start. The air around him was thick with moisture and the dirt underneath him damp. A heavy fog had pulled in, and all he could see were the accented greens and browns of the surrounding trees, all painted with a dark hue from the unrelenting rain.

He averted his gaze skyward. While gray clouds that hung heavy with water over the forest treetops concealed the sky, he knew it was now nighttime. He sat up, and it struck him odd that the forest seemed to lack the usual sound it possessed. Creatures that chirped or croaked had fallen silent. He couldn't even pick up the pathetic, alarmed squeak of a mouse as it was snatched up by a fearsome owl.

When his hand moved to where he received a gash on his forehead, a gasp escaped his lips. It wasn't there. That was impossible. He remembered his clash with the goddesses. He was sure he had defeated them, but recalled that he hadn't come out unscathed. Last he remembered he had collapsed from exhaustion in a wooded area. He clearly recollected seeing blood flowing from a wound on his forehead down his cheek. Wounds like that didn't just vanish.

A twig snapped from directly behind him. In a flash he was on his feet, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, facing the direction the noise had resonated from. The thick fog that had settled in the forest made it difficult for him to identify the approaching threat. His eyes narrowed as he squinted into the murky haze, and was able to make out a lean, petite looking figure.

A woman.

There she stood, eyes glued to his form. Her skin fair, bangs covering one eye, leaving the other shining a crystal cerulean, her face outlined by long silver strands that tumbled down her shoulders to her waist. Her hands grasped each other uneasily as she watched him, a dim light illuminating her form. Her gaze gentle, her complexion fair, her body quite alluring.

For a moment he was caught off guard, stunned. Then he tensed. _A goddess._

He quickly regained his composure and his hand shot to the hilt of his blade in aggression, ready to kill this creature who was at odds with him. Her eyes widened, and she took a step back as a small gasp escaped past her lips.

Despite the palpable fear that swam in her eyes, she didn't appear to be frantic. She looked almost betrayed as he held the hilt of his blade, ready to cleave her in half. _Betrayed? For what?_ Meliodas tilted his head to the side, confused. Then it hit him.

It had been none other than her who had healed him. Only the goddess clan had that kind of power. _Why?_ Why show him of all things, a _demon_ , mercy? Why would she have a reason to look at him with anything other than terror or repugnance? Why would she turn her back on her clan?

His curiosity overtook him, and very slowly he lifted his hand from his blade's hilt. He took a careful step toward her, and when she backed several paces away, he showed her both hands, a gesture to prove he meant her no harm.

Tentatively, the girl inched closer to him. She was afraid. Afraid of what he could do to her. She was at his mercy, having no way of fighting back. But still, a glimmer of trust shone in her eyes. Whether from ignorance, innocence, or just pure naivety, he had no way of deciphering.

He reached out to touch her, and when she recoiled, he simply held his hand out for her to take. Her gaze flickered back and forth from his hand to his eyes, trying to determine whether or not this was a trap.

After a few minutes of this, he felt shaky fingers tips meet his own. Upon making contact, they automatically flinched away, but when she saw that he had not made a move, she tried again. Her fingers came again, and this time she allowed them to rest in his own.

Her skin was impossibly smooth, like silk. She had obviously never seen the war torn battlefields of the demons, or any clan, for that matter. Her scent was sweet and inviting, the apprehension in her gaze replaced with bewilderment. She slid her hand deeper into his own, while he ran his eyes over her body, trying to memorize every curve, every detail, every expression.

If only he hadn't offered his hand. If only he hadn't tried to memorize her features. If only he had parted without a word. Maybe then he never would have learned to care. Maybe he never would have been overpowered by the urge to protect this delicate, breathtaking woman who stood before him.

The fatal mistake was the second encounter. He had been out scouting, hoping to slip by the Fairy King's security to eavesdrop on the plans between the fairies and goddesses, when he felt it. Felt _her_ , so intensely.

He hesitated, pondering whether or not to go after her. But he couldn't help it. His curiosity was peaked. And so he found her again.

And again after that. And again. And again.

Too soon he found himself in a hole he couldn't dig out of. A battle he couldn't seem to win. This was no longer a case of mere curiosity. Too soon for him to realize, he became attached to her.

So when one day he heard an all too familiar scream and felt a presence that overwhelmed his senses, he abandoned his current task without a second thought in desperate search for her. So when he saw the demon that loomed over her, preparing to bring its hell upon her to take her life, he leapt between her and the imminent threat, cleaving it in two before it even had a fair chance to strike.

He waged war internally. He didn't understand it. Why did he care? Why _should_ he care? Why would he strike down one of his own for the sake of an enemy? He was a _demon_ , son of their _king_ for crying out loud. So why was he feeling this way?

And yet every time they met, and every time he saw her gentle gaze, and heard her euphonious voice, he only became more enamoured with her. He found himself constantly searching for opportunities to merely lay his eyes on her.

What was it about her that attracted him like a magnet? What was it about her that drove him to insanity and back in just one instant? He knew. Every time he thought of her it only became more apparent.

Her voice was an irresistible drug to him, her scent intoxicating him to the core. Her lightest touch softened his black heart to mush. All of his hatred, resentment, and doubt would melt like snow in the burning sun the very instant she smiled at him.

Elizabeth was her name. A goddess sent from her realm primarily to protect human race from the gluttonous feasting of the demons. She was often called naive, or too merciful, but she never could understand it.

As she sat on her knees, her power flowing fountains of magic into the demon that lay gravely wounded before her, she began to understand why she had been called those names. _Why was she doing this?_

The truth was she couldn't help it. When she had seen him lying in the mud, she had at first approached him, only to retract the instant she saw the demonic tattoo spiraling down his forehead. She had stared at him for minutes on end, torn between two instincts. The first to clear as much distance between herself and this demon as possible; to leave him there, hope he would die. The second, to heal him, and pray that he wouldn't murder her.

Finally, she ripped her eyes from his mangled body, and prepared to return to safe territory. She froze when she heard a low, but pitiful groan. She hesitantly turned, and laid her eyes upon his face. Though his eyes had been closed, his expression was clear. His lips were parted slightly, his brow arching downward as if he were reliving a moment of regret. His fingers twitched, and he let out another sound that she deciphered as a whimper. It was as if he were having a nightmare right in front of her. Him, a demon.

In that moment it was he who melted her heart. She gave way, and poured every ounce of her strength into saving the helpless demon.

She told him that later. How something about him had captivated her, convincing her to save his life rather than end it. By that point, the two were already comfortably holding one another or placing their lips affectionately upon the other. When she was scared or upset, he would cradle her. When he was frustrated or livid, she would smile and soothe him. When she cried, he wiped her tears and stroked her hair. When he lost himself in wrath, she would hold him tightly and bring him back to his senses. When she was in danger he would protect her. When he collapsed from exhaustion she would heal him.

But they couldn't keep it up forever. They couldn't keep finding nights to get lost in the other's embrace. They couldn't keep hiding behind curtains of willow branches as they cuddled, or conversing in the coverage of the thick, lush leaves of the Fairy King's trees. They knew someone would discover them. And someone did.

A member of Meliodas' order was wandering absentmindedly, and by chance, stumbled upon a patrol of goddesses. Including the one Meliodas had claimed for his own.

The demon ripped through goddess after goddess, each finding themselves powerless in the face of the onslaught. By chance, his last to kill was the one named Elizabeth. She quivered on the ground, trying desperately to resurrect her already fallen comrades. At seeing the demon above her, his gaze giddy with pitiless glee, she released a piercing scream for _her_ demon.

He came. He had felt her distress minutes before, but had trouble locating her. He had tackled his comrade in arms away from her, a growl released from his chest to warn him to stay away.

Of course his ally was no fool. No goddess should be able to call a demon's name out when in distress, and a demon should certainly not attack an ally to save a goddess. They had fought. Blow after blow, each cursing the other as they broke havoc through the night.

Eventually Meliodas emerged, wounded and breathing heavily, but the victor. His goddess had ran towards him to relieve him of his pain, but sensing danger he immediately snatched her up and carried her far away from the bloody aftermath of his battle.

He knew his clan was now aware. He hadn't missed the scout that had witnessed his actions. Nothing could have been a higher form of treason. So he disappeared for a long time, as did Elizabeth the goddess. And Meliodas was forever marked a traitor.

When the war began, and Elizabeth was called to fight for the goddess clan, he followed. He was distrusted, despised even as he turned the tables of the conflict in the favor of the goddesses. He knew no clan could ever accept him, not even his own.

But didn't matter. To him, it no longer meant anything. Elizabeth loved him, and he was inescapably in love with her. She promised her heart to him, and he promised her his, in this life and the next. She was his everything. His love, his desire, his one necessity. His guilty pleasure.


End file.
